King of White and Snow
by Artificial Dreams
Summary: In which N returns home. NTouya.


Sitting on his decaying throne, staring up at the holes in the ceiling where the only trails of light shyly peeked through, was a king without a kingdom. His skin was numb for his clothes were too thin for the winter tiptoeing in after the skirts of autumn, bringing with it chills and snow flurries wafting in and decorating his broken halls in a thin white film. Distantly, down the halls were the sounds of his friends trying to figure out what to do. The man who nursed and cared for them had released Reshiram into the wilds, freeing the dragon of human control and companionship.

A dragon that should have refused to leave, and yet had flown away.

When attempts at speaking with their human resulted in no answer, they placed a blanket on him and hoped for the best. The only fire-type there had been Reshiram, and now none of them knew how to light a flame. "Hadn't he known other humans?" Came the whispers. "Yes, but where are they?" Were the responses. None of them knew. A shadow listened to the inquiries, the empty answers, and the fears. Walking away unseen, one knew where to seek help. One left, knowing why the Dragon of Truth left the Hero of White without question.

The echoes of his friends fretting did not reach the man's ears – only the rebounding words of the past the sounds he could hear. "Have you really never played dodge ball before?" A young man's voice inquired, confusion and a hint of delight filling in the crevices of his tone. A voice that was familiar, inviting, and warm – one that kept the present cold at bay. One that made the displaced king feel at home, and would always make him feel that way.

"No." The king whispered, pale and cracking lips quoting his own words in answer. "How does one play?"

"It's really easy!" The youth answered, a pleased laugh joining his reply. "You have two teams, with an even number of players. They face each other, and have some playing balls," He held up a soft red ball, and bounced it once. It rebounded off his palms, and with a nervous chuckle he chased after – the king following suit. The ball rolled down the hill – they weren't going to play on the hill the king presumed, it was simply the place they met at. Stopping midway, the brunet turned to smile at him. Without warning, he lay down and began rolling the rest of the way after the ball. Inspired, the king followed because the young man was laughing and he wanted to laugh with him. To share these joys and raptures, because those elated sounds were the roof over his head.

The two landed at the bottom, grinning and chuckling together. Breaths caught, the brunet reclaimed the ball. "Well, we'd use balls like this. They don't hurt, so long as you don't throw them hard. And that's the point – you throw it at someone, and if it hits them, they're out. In order to win the game, one team needs to have at least one or more of its members still standing. It's really, really important to never throw hard, because it's supposed to be fun not hurtful. Okay?" This was the most the brunet had ever said to him, so he consented and beamed because nothing pleased him more than knowing this person was teaching him something new – and they were having fun teaching and being taught.

Why had the boy become a trainer, then? To do what he loved, to teach. The brunet's team learned from him, the group of six a formidable force not from raw strength but from knowledge. A beautiful aspect, one that when combined with unwavering love and loyalty the king respectfully bowed down to them in the end. He lost, and he knew precisely why. That was all behind them now, a few blissful months since the king attempted to tear man and creature from one another. Forgiveness came readily, because the young man never begrudged him – it was the elder who learned to forgive himself. And it was hard to remain angry with his own actions when that smile hit him. He forgot everything else – the idea that mistakes were made never crossing his mind, because there was no mistake in meeting this spectacular individual.

This was the memory of the two practicing throwing the balls, their friends the pokemon awkwardly participating because not all of them had hands while a white and black dragon watched onwards more like parents than creatures of legend. The sounds progressively became less distinguishable as the memory melted into another, when they went outside camping. The two were sharing a tent, telling each other stories. The king loved listening to the brunet's stories. The tales were not just of his experiences, but of human claims that he never heard because they were fallacy. There were tales of half-humans and half-pokemon, one a girl who fell in love with a human.

Loving him as she did, she longed to be with him – and thus brokered a wish with Jirachi. The creature was kind, but no miracle came without a price. In order to become and remain human, she only had three days to make the human man love her. Unfortunately, it was not to be – he already loved another, and in the end the girl cried herself into the foam that gathered in the waves of all the seas. When the king complained he disliked the ending, how it was sad, the brunet laughed. "Want to make up a new ending for it?" He had asked, eyes bunching up as his lips curved in pleasure.

"Can we really?" The king whispered. "Would it not change the moral of the story, in which the children are taught to be careful what they wish for and that one cannot force another to love them in a short span of time that true love takes time and dedication?"

"It would change the moral." Came an admission, and then cheeks were lighting with a blush of excitement and shyness. Lips pressed against the king's, softer than he expected of someone who traveled so, and then he was kissing back. Arms wrapped around his neck, holding on tightly and refusing to let go – his own in turn clinging desperately to the waist and lower back of the other. When they pulled away, with little laughs and deep sighs the brunet said softly, "It would just change the moral to true love conquers all, then…"

The memories warmed him, his skin tingling from recalled sensations. Green eyes closed, wanting desperately to erase his current surroundings entirely with the past. From the halls his friends decided to split up, half of them seeking humans to help and the other half approaching the man and trying to share their body heat to warm him. The ice-types went off to seek while the few others tried to keep him alive. The small group huddled around their savior, becoming slightly startled to notice this entire time he had been shivering. If he was cold, why did he remain? And even now, why did he not respond?

What had happened to their human?

The king could see Nimbasa's theme park rides, rising high above him and looming down as though they disapproved of the man beneath them. Strands of green hair coiled around his shoulders from the breeze, and with a sigh he pushed them back. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed a familiar blue jacket and short brown hair. The young man from before, running as fast as his legs could carry him with a trail of his friends stumbling after. Curiosity peaked he glanced to the corners of one of the game tents, noticing his subordinates smiling in embarrassment at their king.

With a chuckle, opting to play a game with this boy whose friends vowed to protect the trainer instead of the other way around, the king maneuvered to stop the brunet from locating his grunts. Pausing and cocking his head to the side, the young man recognized him. They had battled and spoke before. A challenge made interesting by the king's calculations being thrown off by how much fun both the young man and his friends were having with the battle. Even the king's own feline friend seemed to be enjoying himself, a surprise he could not overlook in his assessment of the event.

And it was not an isolated occasion. Almost every time he challenged that particular trainer, the only one who did not enjoy himself was the king. What was he missing? So in that moment, of taking the young man by the hand onto that Ferris wheel, he vowed to make this trainer his Other Half – the Hero of Black to ride the Dragon of Ideals against him in a final confrontation. To prove whether this idealistic child who lived in a carefree world was right in the end, or if the king's facts and realities were the answer to the plague consuming their world.

As the dust settled, long after that fateful ride on the Ferris wheel, a difficult battle between two friends and two legends ended with the king learning they had both been correct – because had they not worked together, there would have been no defeating his father. If, that man had even been his father. There was an ache inside of him, the first time he had experienced sorrow and heart break for his own self and no one else. The king could not stay, watching his guardian and adviser be taken away by the police. Suddenly, the open halls were suffocating. The insignia on his walls, his banners, his very throne making his stomach churn with guilt and resentment. In the past it was easy to label all who opposed his team as monsters. At that moment, the Hero of White could not deny the fact he was now a monster.

A hand gripped onto his wrist, and he was forced to stare into those watering brown eyes and a forced smile. "I know you want to go, but…"

And now he could remember riding on Reshiram into the sky, yet he could hear the young man whispering those words in his ears as though he were still there, right next to him. "Home is where the heart is – wherever you go, I hope you're happy."

That was it. A fleeting, rushed good-bye. Now they were back to playing dodge ball, a stray ball from his friend Leafeon smacking into the king's lower back. "T-time out!" The brunet yelled, with several players on both sides tripping or misfiring at the sudden call. "I-I forgot to mention," He laughed nervously while biting his lower lip. Brown eyes looked to the green-haired man in apology. "It doesn't count if your _own_teammate hits you. Okay? So you're still in the game." With that explanation given, they resumed the game. After a winner was declared, the young man's team winning naturally with their experience and practice working together, they moved on to a different game.

"Flag football. You tie this around your waist," The brunet was close, and the king unintentionally breathed in the scent of sweat and deodorant. The summer sun was high, and they were giving their friends a water break as the new game was being explained. Lightly tanned hands were fumbling with strings to properly tie on a strange belt, and he attached a wide ribbon with Velcro to the side. One by one, everyone was decorated with the same item only with different colours. "And to make things interesting, how about my friends are on your team, and yours are on mine?" There was that grin – how could he say no?

Then they were playing and laughing, the game going terribly because no one on the field was very good at it. Slowly, it devolved to having their special set of rules. It was the king's fault, really. He was chasing after the brunet, always chasing… and then one moment, when he was close enough a thought flashed through his mind. Instead of grabbing that ribbon, he hugged the other from behind. "Caught you." He laughed in the brunet's ear, for the first time in his life not caring about the laws of momentum and they tumbled down. Catching the two and taking the force of the impact, the king remained holding his friend who was laughing with him now. "Th-that's not how you stop me!"

Neither cared. The rules kept changing – instead of taking the ribbon, you hugged or picked up the other. Multiple times the two humans would hope the other would get the ball, just for the opportunity to catch each other. Part-way through, the brunet finally took off his jacket. The king felt his breath catch and his heart race when seeing sweat make the brunet's black shirt cling to his the gaze his friend smiled awkwardly. "Y-you can take yours off, too, you know…" His words becoming softer with each syllable as he spoke.

"Oh. Right." Speechless for the first time, he took off both of his shirts because it was hot, and he sighed feeling the relief of cold air on his drenched back.

The sun was high, and he would catch the brunet in his arms as many times as he could. Even when night fell, it was still hot and stifling. That had been the night they went camping, he realized distantly. That very night. How could he forget? And in the morning, curled around each other tightly, the two slept in so late their combined teams had to force them out of bed for the sake of eating. Responsibilities didn't matter at the moment, because even when making breakfast they had to be touching in some way – shoulders, fingertips, lips… too close wasn't close enough.

Because the brunet had to leave in a week. That was why they were spending so much time together – the brunet was summoned to a Champion conference all the way in Kanto. The king could not come with, as the conference was about persons causing troubles all across the regions. There were people called the Rockets, the Magmas, the Aquas, the Galactics… and of course, the Plasma. He would have been arrested on the spot. Away went his brunet, and in his stead the king vowed to stop his kingdom from destroying his home a second time.

A hand placed itself on his shoulder, and gently shook him. Stirring, green eyes struggled to open, frost clinging to his lashes. Blearily, he could see the faint outlines of a tanned face and brown hair. A male voice was speaking to him, and he wasn't entirely sure what was being spoken. The tone was, without a doubt, worried and frightened. An arm twitched slightly, but barely moved anymore. Tan hands picked up the limb, hands that were hot and alive making the king gasp. Eyelids ripped open, lashes breaking and falling to his cheeks.

"…ear… me?" There were blues and brown, and the king smiled realizing that he had chosen the right place. That his Other Half would know to check his old castle, and could see him on the throne. Where the other could stand at his side, and they could fix Plasma. That had been what the conference was about, right? "N!" Something wet and blazing hot landed on his cheek, and the man shuddered.

"…oya…" His throat was dry, his eyes unable to focus, and he wasn't even sure if his words made sense. When was the last time he ate? Drank anything? So ill-prepared. But that was okay – the other would scold him for letting his body get so far gone, and then nurse him back to wellness. "Tuh-… Touya…" The name finally came out, but the other was still crying and now desperately holding onto him, rubbing his bare shoulders. When had the king removed his shirt? _That's right… when we were playing that game, earlier…_

"It'll be okay." Touya was sobbing as he spoke, shaking and his own body heat was lighting N's on fire. There was a small choking sound, a slight whine.

"I know… you're home now… and so am I…" N murmured, the cracks in his lips ripping open but no blood bothered coming out. The pain was dizzying, the heat overwhelming, but Touya was with him again. They were both home now. Nothing else mattered to him.

…

…

…  
Still crying, holding onto the dying body of N, Kyouhei looked through eyes spilling with tears at the pokemon around him. Zoroark stood nearby, a dark presence in a snow-covered room. "H-how long…?" The brunet whimpered his stomach turning into knots of horror as the cold body in his arms no longer breathed. He hadn't been quick enough. They tried to hurry, oh they tried so hard to make it in time. When Zoroark lay in wait at Victory Road for him, patient and expectant, he knew something was wrong. When did pokemon summon humans? And then they were racing, desperately trying to fight time.

The creature held up two of its fingers, and the brunet felt his heart drop into an abyss. Two days. N had spent two days freezing to death. Or maybe he suffered dehydration, first. Beneath the blanket, Kyouhei was too scared to look. From what he had already seen, N had removed his shirts. He had heard of paradoxical undressing, but thought it was a myth. Thought a king who rode on a white dragon was invincible, but he was not.

Then again, the boy who saved Isshu more than two years ago hadn't been invincible either. In shreds on the floor, barely visible beneath the snow, was the newspaper that had announced none of the Champions were.

* * *

**A/N:** So this was written for my dear friend, of whom I sincerely hope enjoys this. Because I am incredibly rusty at writing angst, and for that I really do apologize. Hopefully it wasn't too terrible for those reading it. Anyway, paradoxical undressing can happen, but please don't look to this fic as a reliable resource for better understanding it.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own nor have any affiliation with Nintendo, Game Freak, Pokemon Inc.


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